


birthright

by godslayer



Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Crushes, Friends With Benefits, Grieving, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Loss, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Not beta'd we die like men, One Night Stands, a lot of swearing because i can't put a sentence together without it, buckle up for the tags, camp nano 2k20, honestly it's less 'mental health issues' and more 'emotional yeehaw', i pin my trauma on yet another oc, look everyone is banging everyone just deal with it, many angst, my poorly written smut, nano 2k19, spencer overcomplicates everything, what's new lol, yes that's a warning tag
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2020-10-21 07:55:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20690087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/godslayer/pseuds/godslayer
Summary: in hindsight, it shouldn't have been that easy to leave the city. a stable, if awful job and a girlfriend to wake up next to.but it was.





	1. the end

The letter, protectively shielding the key to the farm, sits in my pocket. 

Unlike when I lived in Zuzu City, the key has an importance about it. Back then, when Zoe asked me to move in with her, they hadn’t meant anything. A key, another roof to live under. Her studio apartment was barely big enough for her, but it saved us money. And yet, it was still big enough for her secrets. 

After finding her in bed with her co-worker from the bar, I had thrown my things into a duffle bag and gone straight to work. It had been eleven at night, but my manager had opened the door with a cheery smile. 

“At least you don’t have to commute now!” 

I slept at the office for a week and because of that, I’d had the highest turnover of anyone there. But the city was eating away at me, gnawing at my bones, poison blooming in my heart. I’d been settling down for another microwave meal at my desk when I found the letter from my grandfather. 

We had been close when I was a child, closer than I had ever been to my parents. But once I hit middle school, mom and dad had sent me off to a boarding school two hundred miles north of Zuzu and the next time I saw my grandfather, he was lying in a coffin. 

The will had been clear enough, according to my mom. As an only child, dad would get the bulk of his estate, with a few things going towards other members of Pelican Town. Everything but the farm had been sold - all the animals, the belongings inside his house. Apparently mom had insisted that the extensions be torn down and sold for scrap. I was gifted a letter - a pitiful excuse for an inheritance compared to what my father had got. The farmland was apparently left to the Mayor of Pelican Town, one of my grandfather’s closest friends. 

But once I read that letter, the reality of it all hit me like a freight train. It hadn’t been left to the Mayor. 

It had been left to me. 

Grandpa’s attempt at hiding the truth had angered my mom and inadvertently, me. I hadn’t seen him since I was ten years old, the summer before mom shipped me off. And he had never been able to tell me the truth himself.

I had called Mayor Lewis while on my break at work that evening - the phone number had stayed the same in the seven years since Grandpa died. I supposed it had to be that way, especially if he was the Mayor, after all. 

“Mayor Lewis speaking.” 

“Oh, hi,” I said, ever cautious. Working at Joja made us all that way. Everyone wanted a foot up the ladder, and easiest way to make it look like we were advancing was to throw someone else off. 

In fact, a recent rumour had it Joja was advancing into the phone line operations and were tapping all our personal numbers, but with my phone shattered and the constant threat of the camera looming over me in my grey cubicle, I hadn’t wanted to make the call from there. “This is Brian Reynolds granddaughter.” 

He had sounded almost incredulous. “Oh my! How can I help you, Miss Reynolds?” 

And just like that, the floodgates opened. The silence after strangled all the thoughts from me, the sound of sobbing was all that I could hear. 

“That sounds like a lot, Miss Reynolds.” He said quietly, and it hit me. I was the one crying. 

A lengthy pause filled the air as I tried to quench the sobs. 

“How about you come out here and have a break? Your grandfather’s farm’s a bit overgrown, but it’s still liveable.” 

A soggy chuckle foamed in my throat. “I have no idea how to farm.” 

“I never said you’d be a farmer. Just a return to your roots.” 

My roots. 

I couldn’t help but wonder where those were. Perhaps it was in Stardew after all - my grandpa and I had always been so alike. 

From what I could recall - the hazy shards of memories that rose in my dreams - Pelican Town was tiny. I’d need a job there, something to make money. 

Maybe I stood a chance if I farmed. It was a path, and if I couldn’t walk down it, I could turn back. Where were my roots, really? What was the harm in trying?

“Miss Reynolds?” A hesitant voice said as I considered it. 

“It’s Spencer.” 

“Of course, I remember.” 

I bit my lip. Of course he remembered. Everyone knew everybody in Pelican Town. Could I really do this? Could I really re-enter and not get picked to pieces?

“If I’m not farming, what would I do?” 

“I’m sure Pierre would give you a job, or Gus can find an evening for you to work in the Saloon.” 

I paused again. Finding a bus headed that far south would be a challenge. 

“The 102 runs every Sunday.” He said, reading my mind. “We’d love to see you.” 

_ We? _

“I’ll think about it.” 

“Alright.” His tone said it all. 

And I knew I’d be on that bus, regardless of what happened here. 

“Thank you.” 

“Any time, Spencer.” 

I put the phone back on the hook and leaned against the side of the phone booth, my breath clouding in front of me. That was the only sign it ever got cold around here - the smoggy warmth never changed - unless the unbearable sizzle of summer counted. I hadn’t seen snow since I had stayed with Grandpa. The last Winter Star festival we had celebrated together. Possibly the last time I celebrated anything and actually felt happiness. 

The city had always had a vacuum-like grasp on my happiness. Choking the will out of me. Making me pliable, easy to contain. Docile. Too afraid of anything to really live. 

I headed back into the heat of the customer-service room, eyes red from crying when I heard it. 

“I’m telling you,” The familiar voice of my manager says - probably into his phone. “It’s pathetic! She worked all through the Winter Star festival! Who even does that!” 

My stomach lurched. That was me. 

I didn't have anywhere else to go, so I had given up and worked through the day and into most of the night. I woke up the next morning with the imprint of my keyboard on my face and an half-drunk mug of coffee beside me. 

The person bursting through his door wasn’t me. It wasn’t the version of me I had settled on in this greying hellscape. 

“You know what?” The voice, not familiar enough to truly belong to me, yelled. “I quit.” 

The anger had me fuelled as I stormed through the warren of grey cubicles and snatched up my duffle bag before my slimy manager had the chance to say another word. 

I had bought the first bus ticket out of here, but it was a Friday night and I had to head to a seedy motel - one of many, around here - to stay the night. Saturday was spent preparing. It was going to be hard work - I supposed anything from here was going to be hard work. I had bought a few clothes - hardy, solid denim overalls and tough boots for all types of weather and a few books on farming. Slivers of my life in Zuzu remained in the bag, but I couldn’t bear to throw them away. 

Come Sunday morning, I had been bouncing off the walls. The possibility of leaving all of this behind thrilled me more than it should’ve. The city was where everyone went to make something of themselves. 

What did that make me? I thought as the city began to fade into the horizon. 

Travelling out of Zuzu filled me with an inexplicable sense of relief. Anything to be away from Zoe, from Brad and Chad and all the others, whose names I could never remember. 

The desert isn’t a surprise, I’ve always known it’s here, but I can’t help but feel like part of me belongs there too. 

“Next stop, Stardew Valley.” The electronic voice read out. 

We spend twenty minutes on a straight road once we pass the desert stop and even then, we spend forty-five minutes in a dark tunnel. 

When daylight appears at the end of the tunnel, something new bubbles in me. 

I can’t quite place it, but it feels good. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi so i accidentally slipped and gave spencer a sort-of eating disorder (sort-of in the sense that it's literally what i had/have and psychiatrists have never officially diagnosed me with anything beyond 'disordered eating') but until later chapters it won't really be ~approached~ so it's w/e. 
> 
> peace! x

The air hits me first - raw but fresh. Like it might slough away the city version of me. Or at least help to.

The colours are what get me next - thick emerald green grass, the same kind of colour that city girls would wear on a night out. That Zoe would paint with when she wasn’t working. The sky is clear, crystalline blue, like a chlorine-filled pool in a rich family’s backyard. 

“Hiya!” A cheery voice calls from the other side of the road. “You must be the new farmer?” 

I glance over, the sunlight high above us glinting at just the wrong angle and blinding me. I cross the road without looking - a bad habit the city had instilled in me. Only listening to the sounds of cars wasn’t the most reliable, but I hadn’t been killed yet. 

And getting hit with a car in Stardew Valley didn’t seem like a problem. 

“I’m Robin,” the voice says, a smile creeping into it. “I’m the carpenter around here.” 

Of course a place like this has a carpenter. I only deal in extremes, and going from the biggest city in the Ferngill Republic to the middle of fucking nowhere seems incredibly apt. 

I take a moment to properly process Robin’s appearance. She’s in an odd sort of get up, I suppose. I was never one for fashion, but Zoe’s voice is in my head, telling me that she shouldn’t be wearing faded mustard with such vibrant orange hair.  _ “I’m just being honest!”  _ Her voice rings in my head. 

I wade through the thoughts of Zoe, of the city and sputter out an introduction. “I’m Spencer.” 

“Ah, yeah, we’ve been expecting you.” 

I exhale a little too sharply. Of course she would know who I am. She’s the one picking me up. 

“Sorry, it’s not often someone new moves in, especially around here.” She sounds almost wistful as she starts to walk. I quickly follow her lead, holstering my duffle bag over my shoulder. “Even my Sebastian wants to move to the city.” 

The name is out of my mouth in an instant, tasting the way it sounds on my tongue. “Sebastian?” 

“My son. He’s maybe a little older than you?” 

The question is gentle as it probes the air between us. 

“I’m twenty two.” I say softly, readjusting my grip on my bag. 

“Oh, he’s just a year older than you, then. And Maru,” she pauses, processing my no doubt confused face, “- my daughter - is nineteen.”

I don’t really know what to say. The city stole more than I wanted it to in its attempts to turn me into a Joja Robot, and apparently my ability to socialise disappeared in the light-polluted dark too. 

Fortunately, Robin doesn’t seem to have much of a filter as she continues rambling. 

“We live up in the mountains - just behind you. Sebby’s sweet once you get to know him, and Maru is working on going to college. There are a few other kids your age around here -” 

Kids. 

I’m a kid to her.  The irony \- the fact I now own an entire fucking farm, as a kid, isn’t lost on me.

“- there’s Sam, him and Abby are like toddlers, always getting into mischief. They usually hang out with my Sebby, and Maru spends her time with Doctor Harvey, he’s quite reserved, you see.” 

Well, at least this place has a doctor. It’s not that small. Five other people to maybe hang out with. Slim pickin-

“Alex and Haley have this strange routine where they date and breakup every week -” 

Oh Yoba, there’s more? 

“Haley’s sister, Emily, works in the Saloon. You’ll probably run into Pam and Shane in there, Pam’s Penny’s mom and Shane---”

My head doesn’t want to put two and two together, so as she speaks, I’m only aware that she’s just sort of talking, my head swimming as she lists everyone I should know, which is apparently the entire population. 

The city took too much. 

We arrive at what must be my new farm, although it looks more like an overgrown forest. There are trees everywhere, sprouting haphazardly from the remnants of barn foundations. Weeds grow from every nook and cranny - there’s even a layer of ivy winding over one of my windows. 

Her voice is hesitant as she takes in the farm, “Lewis is just inside…” 

I’m only vaguely aware that she’s turned to me and is taking my reaction in, not that there’s much for me to give her. 

“Listen, give us a ring if you need anything. We’re probably your closest neighbours. Just off the path up there.” She points towards a set of stairs, carved into the hillside a little ways behind my cabin. 

There has to be some irony in the fact that the key in my pocket is actually useless. The door is already open - Lewis is inside and judging by the loud clatter and the swearing that followed, he needs some help. 

“We’ll see you around, yeah?” 

I nod mutely before stepping into the cabin. I don’t glance back. I’ll roll with the punches tomorrow morning, when all this is slightly less of an open wound. 

The door, a worn down red thing with a window panel in the top screams as I push it open. There’s a very loud crash and short shout of pain follows. 

“Ooh, sorry,” I say, vaguely aware that I don’t sound apologetic in the slightest. Insincerity is something the city, Zoe and my other exes taught me well. 

“It’s quite alright, I just lost track of time,” The man in front of me says. He’s old - maybe in his sixties, in a bright green shirt, brown trousers with matching suspenders and a vivid yellow tie pushed up to the top buttons of his shirt. 

“You must be Spencer?” He says, stretching out his salt and pepper moustache over a smile. 

I nod, eyeing the room behind him. It’s bare. It’s very bare. A rickety looking bed sits in one corner, opposite a dusty looking fireplace. Beside the fireplace is an old-looking bathtub and a sink, and to the other side, a small table, with a clock and a few groceries on it with an ancient looking chair tucked underneath. Did Grandpa always live like this?

“Unfortunately there’s no electricity or water yet,” Lewis says, mostly to himself, “But I’ve scheduled Robin and Sebastian to come down in a few day’s time.” 

That name again. 

Sebastian. 

_ Seb-as-tee-an. _

I can’t help but wonder what he’s like. What all the people Robin named are like. 

“They’ll get you set up for free. A little welcome gift from us all.” He pauses. “And I found a few of your grandpa’s tools in the remains of the greenhouse.” 

Like a hazy dream, I can just about remember the greenhouse. Grandpa used to fill it with whatever took his fancy that summer. The last time I was here, it had been orchids. Temperamental little blighters, he had called them. 

“They’re just round the side of the house.” He says softly. “I’ve had your chimney cleaned out, so the fireplace is all ready to use. And here’s my number if you need anything.” 

He hands me a little business card, the kind that printing shops do in bulk deals. 

In ugly cursive writing reads his name, his address - Mayor’s Manor, a piece of information that is truly useless - and his telephone number. 

I take it and thank him, pocketing it beside my shattered phone. I don’t bother telling him that my phone is broken. I get the feeling he’d probably try and teach me how to use smoke signals. 

It takes a few noncommittal grunts for him to get the message and finally leave me alone. I spend the rest of the day on my new front porch, precariously balanced on some unhealthy looking wood while I bathe in the early spring sunshine. Amongst the skyscrapers of Zuzu, it’s been a while since I’ve had the chance to truly enjoy some rays. 

I sit there for hours, until the sun disappears amongst the trees and the biting chill returns to the air. Only when the cold gets too cold - a numbing sort of cold, the kind on the precipice of pain - do I go inside. 

But I quickly discover inside isn’t much warmer, and with a body temperature below average, it’ll take me a while to warm up. There are a few logs in a basket beside the empty hearth, and after a few attempts at lighting a fire, it roars to life. The chill in the cabin is stubborn, like a ghost determined on haunting me, but once I kick off my shoes and crawl under a gorgeous patchwork quilt, I can feel the chill seeping out of my bones. I’m vaguely aware that I haven’t had dinner, or lunch, for that matter, but the hunger doesn’t bother me. 

The exhaustion of the day settles in and once the warmth has enveloped me in a welcoming hug - the first I think I’ve had in a long time - I’m out. 

* * *

I hadn’t expected to be so cold when I woke, but it’s not like the fire was going to take care of itself. A chunk of blackened log sits in the fireplace, taunting me as the chill starts to seep through my quilt. As much as I don’t want to crawl out of the safety of my bed, the easiest way to get myself warm will be by moving. 

At least, I think so. One of the windows has a hole in it, a harsh wind comes screeching through - not that I could tell it was broken from the coat of ivy it’s wearing outside. The clock tells me it’s nearly six in the morning, but I could’ve guessed it was early from the way the sun hasn’t quite broken over the horizon. 

I get the fire going again and once it’s warm enough for me to consider getting naked, I change out of the clothes I wore from Zuzu and into a particularly comical but appropriate get-up: a sports bra, a thick red shirt, sturdy overalls - made from  _ real  _ denim, not the fake Joja stuff that crumbles after six washes - and have a sad breakfast, toasting slices of bread over the open fire. 

I can’t help but wonder if this is how my ancestors felt before electricity. Primitive. 

Of course, in Zuzu, Zoe had an actual cooker, not that I had time for something as wasteful as breakfast with the shadow of Joja looming over me and Zoe woke at noon any way after she got in at two, three, or even four am. 

I’m so wrapped in my daydream, one of the slices of bread toasts a little too far, but I’m hungry, so I eat it. 

If I had it in me to be horrified at the state of the farmland, I probably would’ve been. I had seen a little of it yesterday, in a half-glazed sort of state. But now I was seeing it. Properly seeing it. 

And it’s a shitshow. 

Trees just about everywhere, so many weeds,  _ so many weeds _ . I couldn’t help but wonder if it was just a sea of weeds underneath all the branches and rocks. I could tell a tree had fallen through the greenhouse roof, no doubt sending shards of glass flying into the area around it, but how long ago, I had no idea. I could just about make out a pond a little ways away, but it would take at least half a day to carve a path out from the overgrowth.

That’s a task for me if I decide to stay. I walk around the house, careful not to trip and break my ankle on something stupid, and find Grandpa’s rusty old tools with a bag of parsnip seeds beside them, with a little note attached. 

_ Consider this another welcome gift! - Lewis.  _

The wind rips at my hair as I stare the packet down. The bite of hunger gnaws at my stomach, despite the dry toast I had polished off no less than ten minutes ago. The feeling isn’t something completely novel, I had this problem while I was at school, but with partners around to look after me, I had been able to stay aboard the wagon in Zuzu. 

A mist of a memory comes with the wind and the sharp edge of hunger removes the blur: Grandpa’s lesson on a few vegetables. 

Parsnips are a spring crop. 

A root vegetable. 

My roots. 

I guess I’m going to be a fucking farmer, then.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one - this has not been proofread. i don't care, not because i don't care about the story but because i have simply run out of the energy to care about proofreading during the whole ~pandemic~ thing i have to work through. (yay for pharmacies but YOINKS for my self care)  
two - literally every character gets their redemption arc. except for zoe. anyone that knows me personally will understand this.  
three - hopefully it won't take as long between chapters 3 and 4 but whatever.

The next morning comes all too soon - I’ve barely cleared any land and the wind is whistling through my shattered windows. I hadn’t seen clouds on the horizon last night, but it was dark in that ‘we’ve barely left the winter’ sort of dark and even when I was sat on the rickety front porch, I don’t think my eyes were ever focused on anything. 

Least of all the sky. 

And naturally, it comes back to bite me in the ass. 

Last night had been cold, incredibly cold, considering my windows were probably installed when Grandpa was my age and some absolute hooligan has been launching things at them since he’s been gone, which has given the rain the perfect opportunity to slice through, coating my floor, my things and the foot of my bed in icy water. I swing my feet out of bed and grab my old clothes in an attempt to dry off slightly, but it’s no use. The rain has soaked me through and I can’t do anything about it. 

Rain in the city had been a minor annoyance. Rain out here - in the buttfuck middle of nowhere, without a proper roof - was quite possibly my ticket to a breakdown. 

But by the divine intervention of small town nosiness, help is quickly at hand. 

“Spencer?” An echo forms outside. Only Robin and Mayor Lewis know I’m here, and if the mayor went outside in this weather, I think he’d end up in the next town over. 

My door might as well be useless as Robin all but smashes it down to get in. 

“Ah, oops.” She looks like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar. “Sorry, love, we thought the storm was going past us and straight on to Grampleton. Forecast got it wrong, so Lewis sent me over to get you.” 

She’s a hurricane as she collects my soggy belongings and shoves them in a woven bag, stilling only when she notices I haven’t moved. She hits me with a pointed glare, as if I’m the one being rude. 

“Look, I’m not going to leave you in this hovel when I’ve got a perfectly good spare room you can sleep in and be warm. Demetrius has already agreed that we’re not leaving you out here alone. Maru’s even excited to meet you!” 

My voice is croaky when I manage to parrot back to her, “Maru?” 

“My daughter. Sorry, I probably threw far too much at you yesterday. Come on, get your things together!” 

I don’t mention that she has most of my belongings - or at least, the ones valuable enough for me to care about - in her arms, and move to the door. A red pickup truck waits outside, the light in the cab our lighthouse in this downpour. Robin ushers me outside and into the passenger seat, but in the in between I get soaked through. I’m still in my pyjamas, the sad little doggies on my pants look decidedly worse for wear. 

I can barely see as Robin drives through the storm, but it comes to me that she’s probably relying more on memory than the road. I don’t even think this was a road, only a dirt path. And it’s not like there’s going to be any other cars out here in this shitty weather. 

I can feel the incline of the hill as Robin drives up it, and eventually the road - path - whatever the hell we’re driving on - plateaus out. I can just about make out a house in the rain - scratch that, it looks more like a mansion compared to anything I’ve seen lately. Houses in the city weren’t even real houses - just grey blocks of concrete with a window every two meters. People who could actually afford houses didn’t live in the smogginess of the city, they had all the luxury their sold out souls could offer. And as it turned out, souls went for a fair bit in the suburbs. A nice picket fence, a cat or a dog and a picturesque family portrait. 

“Out we get,” Robin says, her voice decidedly chipper for someone that’s been awake since probably half five in the morning. I’ve been too wrapped up in my own thoughts to properly pay attention to my surroundings, as we’re now inside what must be a garage. Robin opens up her door and steps out and before I even think about opening my door, she’s already got it from the outside. “Come on now, Spencer. I’ll get some coffee going.” 

The garage is loaded with tools - a chunk of wood sits in the corner with an array of chisels beside it - but the main thing that really catches my eye, the first thing to properly catch my eye in a while, is a sheet of tarpaulin. Or rather, what must be underneath it. 

“Oh, you like bikes too?” Robin asks, drawing me out from under my well-oiled spell. 

“My dad used to own a repair shop,” I reply, without even thinking about the consequences. When I’d told Zoe, she’d used it against me - always pitching me forward to help with her constantly rotating circle of friend’s car problems. 

Not that cars were even useful in Zuzu. The traffic would always pack up for blocks, and in the summer the fumes only added to the city’s smogginess. 

“That sounds like a Reynolds thing alright,” And without further explanation, she ushers me up a miniscule set of stairs - one, two, three - and into an alarmingly white room. It’s so clinical, I can’t help but be reminded of a hospital. Before my own brain can sabotage me and yank me further into the memories of the bruises, the statements and everything else that comes with anything remotely medical, a deep voice fills the air. 

“Good morning hon,” a man says, clad in a flannel print dressing gown and grey slippers. “And it’s nice to meet you, Spencer. I’ve put on a pot of coffee if you’re interested?” 

Robin carefully places my things on the side - something this man, presumably her husband, and not the elusive Sebastian, tuts at, but says nothing as she scurries off into the depths of their home. He pulls a hand out of his dressing gown pocket and offers it to me, and I shake it tentatively. 

“Demetrius.”

“Spencer.” 

He chuckles slightly, a low, throaty sound that’s maybe a little more than a rumble. Then it hits me - he already knows my damn name. Everyone in this tiny town probably knows who I am. I just don’t know any of them. 

“Spencer!” Robin’s voice calls out from down a corridor. “How many pillows do you want?” 

“You’d best be careful,” Demetrius says with a smile, “She’ll go wild on the pillows if you let her.” 

I follow the soggy boot prints down the hallway and into a small bedroom. For once in my life, the tiny size of it doesn’t seem stifling, but rather, cosy? The wallpaper, a peachy orange-pink like the sunset and hardwood floor seem to work well together. 

“Is this too much?” Robin asks, gesturing towards a decadent display of the plushest pillows I’ve seen in my entire life. The entire bed looks nothing short of divine compared to the rickety things I’ve slept on for the past few years of my life. I shake my head no, incapable of words. I hardly know this woman, much less earned her trust to sleep in her house. 

“And here’s a change of clothes, I’ve fished them out the dryer for you,” she continues, producing a soft looking top and pyjama pants. “They’re Maru’s, since you’re about the same size, but she won’t mind. She’s delighted to meet you, when you’re feeling up to it. Anyway.” 

A long pause fills the room. Robin wrings her hands out awkwardly before opening her mouth again. 

“I’ll let you change and get back to sleep, I can’t imagine you’ve slept much in this weather. Pop your -” she gestures to the pyjamas I’m wearing, still saturated with rain - “this, outside the door and I’ll wash them for you.” 

Something about the way she’s manhandled me into her home is enough to have already taken the tiny portion of my resistance away. 

She gives me a smile and is quickly on the other side of the door, closing it from the outside. The promise of dry clothes is a little too tantalising to turn down, even if my mom’s voice is in my head the entire time - “We don’t take handouts!” - and I’m in the bed in minutes. It’s as heavenly as I thought it would be - an impossibly warm duvet and clean sheets are all it takes to lull me to sleep against the sound of the storm outside. 

* * *

The smell of sauce wakes me - a fragrant tomato-y sort of smell that I haven’t smelt in a long time. Food in Zuzu was always something tinned, something preserved and salty. The rumble of my stomach is a reminder of just how little I’ve eaten in the last twenty four hours. I decide to listen to it for once as the sharpness of not eating has caved away to something a little more unforgiving. The floorboards are pleasantly warm under my toes as I head towards the smell. 

“Can you pass the cheese please Dad?” an unfamiliar voice says. 

“Of course,” Demetrius’ familiar rumble says. “How’s the robot coming along?” 

The other voice hums a little. The sound of cutlery against china fills the silence. This all feels too homely, too domestic - something I’ve never quite touched. I should go back to bed - no, I should go back to the farm, pack my things, go back to the city and just sell this stupid farm - 

“Do you mind?” A grumpy voice says from behind me, scaring the life out of me. “You’re kinda in the way.” 

“Sebby is that you?” Robin’s voice calls from the other room. 

The voice - the person - no, Sebastian pushes past me and into the warmth of the kitchen. 

“Your latest project is lurking,” he grumbles, quiet but not quite enough and laden with contempt. I poke my head around the corner and glance in.

“Sebastian!” Demetrius cries out, nearly knocking his chair over as he stands up. 

“What?” Sebastian says lazily, dumping spaghetti into a bowl. 

“Don’t talk about Spencer like that!” 

His eyes meet mine across the kitchen table before turning back to Demetrius, a cocky smirk across his face. “Am I wrong?” 

Something about the way he’s said it feels like it’s more of an attack at his mom, but he’s definitely enjoying the way it’s winding Demetrius up. Robin doesn’t even seem to respond to it. 

The two glare at each other until Sebastian moves to leave, pushing past me again with a quiet grumble. 

“Sorry about him,” Demetrius says, gesturing for me to come into their kitchen - dining room arrangement. “Sebastian can be a little challenging.” 

Robin and the girl who must be Maru continue eating their spaghetti. 

“Did you want some dinner?” Demetrius says as he heads over to the side where Sebastian served himself. 

“Um, if it’s not too much.” 

“Nonsense!” Robin cries out - although I think that’s what she’s said. It’s hard to tell when she’s got a literal mouthful of spaghetti muffling her words. 

“We wouldn’t kidnap you and then not feed you, Spencer.” Demetrius says with a smile. “Help yourself and then come and have a seat.” 

He pulls a chair out from under the table - it’s a sturdy looking thing, polished to perfection. No doubt one of Robin’s own creations - and motions for me to sit down. I can’t help but feel uncomfortable here - when was the last time I, of all people, sat down and had a home cooked meal with family? With my mom and dad? 

But the knowledge that this family isn’t quite as perfect as it seems - the brooding shadow of Sebastian snatching his dinner and escaping as quickly as he appeared - soothes me a little bit. Not everyone is perfect. 

The sound of cutlery clinking against china is all that can be heard until a shout echoes out from downstairs. 

“MOTHERFUCKER!” 

Maru snorts, Demetrius chokes on his spaghetti and Robin barely processes it. Perhaps she’s more used to her son’s antics than the rest of her family. 

“Again, sorry about him,” Demetrius says with a tense smile, eyeing Robin carefully over the table. 

Robin, however, seems absolutely oblivious to whatever tension her son has created and turns to me. 

“We’ve got the TV on in the lounge if you want to join us, but if not we won’t take it personally.” She stands and picks up her empty bowl before scooping up mine. “Seb’s having Sam and Abby over later for Solarion Chronicles and I know they can be a bit…. _ Much _.” 

It takes all of the energy the spaghetti has offered me to speak. “Thank you. Would it be ok if I got down?” 

Robin blushes, whether it’s at me or something else, I’m not entirely sure. “Of course, of course. There’s a few books in the spare room or an old laptop if you feel like doing something.” 

I stand, trying to bite back the reminders of the hours I’d spend in Zuzu trying to communicate through a screen. How futile it all felt. My head shakes a little at the memories, as if I can rattle them out of my head.

“Thank you for cooking,” I say before I leave the room, a last attempt at the manners my mom tried so hard to instill in me as a child. 

I’m tucked up in the bed again before I can properly process where I am. The warmth embraces my nerves, pulled taut and begging for me to just relax - as though it’s that easy, and muffles their cries for a while. 

My dreams are filled with a strange spaghetti family and their angry spaghetti son until I’m woken by a sudden thirst. Snippets of a conversation, teetering on the edge of an argument, float down the hallway. 

“Pleaaase? I won’t even wake her, I just want to see her!” 

“Abigail Collins, the new farmer is not a toy! You cannot just watch her while she’s sleeping!” 

The sound of footsteps stomping away threaten to rupture what’s left of my exhaustion, some primitive part of me going into high alarm like I often did in Zuzu. 

“Yoba, why is your mom so rude.” 

A male voice mumbles, before there’s a soft clonk sort of sound and I pass out again to the sound of two people kissing. 


End file.
